


F.I.S.H.D.O.

by wellthisisprettyrisque (collettephinz)



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depressing, Implied Character Death, Lots of Cursing, M/M, Not Beta Read, Steve Feels, Superhusbands, Tony Feels, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/wellthisisprettyrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was one of those missions. The ones you only ever heard about in movies that had Tom Cruise scaling hundred story buildings and losing the girl. One of the missions only Bond could survive. One of those missions Hollywood loved to tell you about, save the fact that they tweaked the ending a bit so the audience wouldn’t leave in tears. One of those missions that no one made it out alive.</p>
<p>It was a suicide mission. And for the first time in his whole life, Tony couldn’t find a way out of it.</p>
<p>So, what was an unmarried man to do, but marry his man before it was too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	F.I.S.H.D.O.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it's at least decent, written at, like, three in the morning. So all typos are my own, and believe me, there will be plenty.

When he’d first opened the email, Tony had only been paying partial attention to the usual jargon that S.H.I.E.L.D. loved to use, just to fluff up their memos and assignments to make their whole bullshit operation sound professional. Like they had some poor intern down in the basement, stressing over every word in the late hours of the night, abusing the thesaurus and treating the meaningless email that less than half the staff would read like it was his or her college thesis. The poor kid probably thought whatever he or she was doing was important, but everyone above the kid knew better, and would secretly make fun of the kid at the water cooler during break. That was Tony’s theory.

He didn’t actually read the damn thing until he got a call that JARVIS had valiantly attempted to block under his orders. Fury overrode all of Tony’s precious protocols and barked at the genius until he finally surrendered and opened the email again (after recovering it from the trash, because come on, he would find something better to do and the email would have been forgotten for the rest of history, just like every other digitized message Tony received from those assholes over at S.H.I.E.L.D.)

The email was a long son of a bitch, and required scrolling, which Tony loathed. But he never got past the first paragraph. Because once he read the words, “Odds of Team Survival: highly unlikely,” Tony kinda scrapped the idea that he could finish the thing and panicked over the fact that Steve was also in the “send to” line, along with Bruce, Clint, and Natasha. But mainly Steve.  
Now, Tony would have just deleted the email again and eagerly gone on with his life, blatantly ignoring any further contact from anyone who had an acronym attached to their name, but Steve. Steve had gotten the email too, the memo, the fucking death sentence. And Steve was Steve.

And Steve was fucking Captain America. Captain America, who wouldn’t turn down a fucking mission because it was for the fucking good of fucking America, the same fucking country Steve was fucking willing to fucking die for, and god fucking dammit, Tony wasn’t about to let Steve do this alone. Not since they’d started… whatever-ing, together, being in a serious relationship. Tony Stark wasn’t really known for being poetically articulate with his feelings. 

The point was, Captain America was going on a suicide mission, and that meant IronMan was going to be attached to his hip in every way possible, save the dangerous way that would totally get them killed, and Tony didn’t think Steve would appreciate wearing a leash or having Tony literally weld part of the IronMan suit to Steve’s handy-dandy utility belt or coveted shield.

Now here came the hard part. How to turn this suicide mission into a less-than-suicidal mission that they could totally-possibly-survive-in-the-least-suicidal-way-ever. Maybe turn it into a mission where, say, three out of five survived. Because Natasha was just slippery and could live through anything, Bruce was the Hulk, and Tony would be damned before he let Steve die. Clint, yeah, Clint resembled a dog breed that was less than flattering for Tony to mention, so Clint would probably stick with Tony and they would be on their own, two-person suicide mission, and then the other three would be on their butterflies-and-cupcakes mission and make it home safe. That’s all Tony wanted.

But then Tony actually read the email (seven times, in fact, and JARVIS thrice, running scenarios and equations that made Tony’s head spin because none of them had the outcome of Steve being okay) and his heart was in his fucking throat and there was no way. There was no way to save any of them. Hell, they were practically bait, the frontline. The distraction while the smaller, less recognizable team infiltrated from behind and took out the bad guy.

On the surface, it should have been a simple in-and-out. But these guys, these fucking grade-A terrorists not only had Tony’s old (supposedly completely destroyed, damn you again, Obi) weapons, but a tactical analyst named W. Brandt, and a computer genius that had a security system so close to Tony’s that even he was impressed named Jensen. And that just wasn’t fucking fair. 

So, maybe, the Hulk would survive if he got through the minefield coupled with the helicopters above. But then there were the mutant-gene charged freaks that Tony was almost positive Magneto had a hand in, and then there were those booby-traps the email didn’t specify on because S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t even know what they were. 

Shitty intel made everything worse, and Tony didn’t have time to look into it because his report-time was at 1500 hours and it was already 2:38 and Tony would be damned if he was late. It had only taken him a few minutes to realize that the team was fucked and they were going to die (those big floating screen heads had been trying to get rid of them for so fucking long—surprised that they actually chose an honorable way to take the Avengers out, though that was probably to keep themselves in the public’s good graces), so Tony had another plan. Something he needed to do before he was buried six feet under in a cemetery where every headstone looked the same.

In the hanger, Tony took a deep breath and stepped onboard the helicarrier with his “suit” case and completely ignored Fury’s, well, furious words. The genius was almost positive Fury shouting “where is your super suit?!” had to be some sort of movie reference, but he actually bypassed on the snippy remark he had in the back of his mind and prioritized. Tony made a beeline for his super solider, the gorgeous blond man standing near the front of the helicarrier, talking with Natasha, all spangled up and ready to die. 

Tony stopped in front of him, said his name, and waited all of zero seconds, because Steve always listened when Tony needed to say something that was actually important enough for Tony to wait for Steve to pay attention.

Tony took in a deep breath.

“We’ve run out of time.”

Steve frowned, glancing to Clint and Natasha who were looking to Steve like he should have the answer for them. The super soldier sighed and turned back to the genius. “What do you mean?” he asked gently, sounding so exhausted and Tony kinda wanted to just wrap Steve up in a blanket and keep him on the sofa in Stark Tower and feed him cookies and milk until Steve passed out and slept for days so he would never be tired again. But they were going to die, so Tony couldn’t really afford to waste any more time.

“So, uh, you and I. We’ve been a thing for a while, right?”

Steve waited, then realized he was being asked a legitimate question, and slowly nodded his head. He still looked so lost in an adorable way, but Tony was getting frustrated with himself for not just spitting it out. Then again, Tony had never been able to just spit it out (and fuck you for having a dirty mind).

“Yeah, uh, long time, pretty much one of my longest standing relationships ever.” He gave a little mouth shrug as he thought that statement over. “I mean, the thing with Pepper was for a while too, but it wasn’t really happy half the time, and we were more like on and off, just never officially verbalizing that we were, you know, off, but we were still off sometimes, and I haven’t been “off” with you in a while.” He paused. “… Come to think of it, I’ve never even been “off” with you, so yeah, you’re my longest standing relationship.” Tony smiled awkwardly, his hands moving all over the place as he talked. “Congratulations and all that stuff should be in order. Anyways, uh, yeah, longest relationship, which means you’re something pretty fucking special if you can stand to be with me for more than a week at a time.” He tried to laugh, but it came out sounding bitter and self-deprecating. Tony winced.

“Yeah, that sounds bad, does it always sound that bad? I mean, I must secretly inwardly hate myself with all those god awful habits—”

“You’re not making any sense, Tony,” Steve interrupted, yet still looking very patient. “What’s wrong?”

Tony took in another deep breath and bit the bullet before he bit his tongue and choked on his own blood, deciding it was time to buck up and get that other bullet out of his stomach, the bullet being the question, and Steve being something war related (and that analogy or whatever got away from him rather quickly).

“Steve, you and I need to get married right now cause we won’t have any other opportunity, ever again.”

Steve was silent.

Silent for way too long. 

“W-wow, okay,” Tony stammered, and then immediately shut himself up, because Tony Stark does not stammer or stutter or, or, or whatever. He winced again, ducked his head, then realized that looked fucking stupid, and looked back up, but then ducked again because the look of absolutely nothing on Steve’s face hurt him in a way he didn’t know he could be hurt. The ring in his suit pocket was heavy as lead and Tony felt like he was falling from Heaven, and heading straight to Hell. No surprise he’d end up there, Tony had a one-way ticket and a bed of coals with his name on it after everything he’d fucked up. Including this.

Tony turned to go, though he didn’t know where because he still wasn’t going to let Steve die without him, so he had to go somewhere, but then a familiar, strong hand was on his shoulder and Tony gave up and let himself be turned back to Steve, eyes closed, resigned, bracing for a fist to the face.

Well, something did touch his face, but unless Steve had shrunk his whole hand, sprayed it with some water, and then made his knuckles just fucking flawless and heavenly, it wasn’t a fist. Tony’s eyes fluttered open (because he didn’t have the balls to just outright look) and his heart kinda fluttered too when he saw Steve, face flushed, eyes shut, holding Tony in place as he kissed him gently. In front of everyone. Not that everyone didn’t already know, cause they all lived in the tower, and Tony prided himself in being a vocal lover, but still. Steve was from the 40s. PDA was kinda a common courtesy thing. It was perfect, really, in every way, and Tony wished he could just stand here with Steve and kiss him forever. 

But then he remembered they had a countdown to their deaths and he had to get this show on the road.

Tony pulled away and took the ring out of his suit jacket, then tossed it to Fury and thanked god the man was a spy with amazing reflexes for a cyclops. “I know you probably aren’t authorized, unless you’re in the Salvation Army, but that’s highly doubtful, and did you know that the SA ranking officers that can conduct marriage ceremonies are Lt. Colonels, Colonels, and, I think, commissioners or something? That’s kinda useful to know, specially when you’re overseas and discovering some foreign romance or another, and—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted him with a bright laugh, something gleaming in his eyes but Tony wasn’t going to name it lest he start having the same problem. Steve, (beautiful, amazing, perfect) Steve didn’t actually say anything besides his name, so Tony took that as a go-ahead, and a “get to the point.”

“Fury,” Tony said with purpose. “Marry us. Even though it won’t be truly legally binding or legit, just for the sake of my ol’ boy here? He’s a stickler for tradition.”

“You guys are a bunch of god damn fools,” the spy scowled, but then he looked down at the ring in his hand and something in his expression changed. And Tony knew what it was. Fury was being asked to grant the final wishes of two dying men. You’d have to be the devil to say no to that. Or Catholic, you know, cause of the whole gay thing. “Alright, fine,” Fury muttered, before squaring his shoulders and facing Steve and Tony like he actually knew what he was doing. He took in a breath, obviously ready to start, when Tony cut in.

“Wait, wait, Natasha. You’re the flower girl,” and he was lucky she didn’t fucking knife him for making the comment. “Clint, get Pepper on, like, a video chat or something, she’ll kill me if she doesn’t see this. Bruce, oh god, stop crying, please stop crying?” and Bruce really was crying, and it wasn’t the “I’m so happy for my friends” crying, it was the “god, why did everything have to work out like this” crying and that just wasn’t going to happen during Tony’s wedding, thank you. “Bruce, get a camera or something, I want this all over the tabloids tomorrow so people know what’s what, and sorry if you’re not ready to go public, Steve, but it doesn’t really fucking matter. I want people to cry over this shit like nothing else, but not you guys, you guys can’t cry, so let’s make this quick!”

Everyone started scrambling around halfheartedly, and Tony was mildly pleased that they even listened to his orders in the first place. But then he began thinking about why they would, and dammit, not at his wedding. Tony turned to Steve and wrapped his arms around the strong body he’d been waking up beside ever morning for the past year and smiled. One of those rare, genuine, not-identifiably-Tony smiles that Steve whispered he loved so much in Tony’s ear every time Tony could actually find something that would get the smile on his face. It was usually Steve.

“We ready?” Fury asked with the attitude of an impatient four-year-old. Tony didn’t even bother to glance around to make sure everyone was actually ready; he just nodded so they could get this over with quickly before he choked up.

“Alright then,” and Fury began.

“Do you, Steve Rogers, take this man, to love and to hold, to… whatever, until death do you part? Though I don’t recommend it.” Tony winced for the third time. He hadn’t considered the fact that Fury could be the most unromantic piece of shit who didn’t even know the words to the most common marriage speech. But Steve was smiling down at Tony like he was the most important thing in the world, so obviously, Steve didn’t care.

“I do,” the blond said, but quietly, intimately, like he only wanted Tony to know, because Tony was the only one who mattered. Something in Tony fluttered again and he cleared his throat and blinked rapidly.

“And do you, Tony Stark, take this man, who is way out of your league—” Tony scowled at Fury for the commentary who really didn’t give a shit. “—till death do you part?”

Those words were suddenly so morbid.

“I do,” Tony choked out, and fuck, not his wedding, not his wedding, not his fucking wedding.

“By the power not even invested in me,” and Tony was going to kick Fury when this was over. “I now pronounce you, husband and… husband.” He tossed the ring back to Tony and Tony slipped it on Steve’s finger and did a mental jig when it was a perfect fit.

There was clapping, Tony could hear it behind and in front and just around him (there was even some cheering and hollering that sounded like a certain redhead CEO who may or may not have been betting on who would pop the question first), but he wasn’t actually aware. The look of blinding love Steve was giving him kinda muted everything out, all sound becoming this sluggish roar that was drowned out by Tony’s frantic heartbeat. Steve leaned in, Tony leaned in, and then they were kissing again. But it was different.

Tony had always been told that the first kiss is the most electrifying kiss you could ever hope to have, and then that was it. Well, he was starting to realize that there were different types of first kisses. And that some first kisses were better than other first kisses. Like his first kiss with Steve in the rain, or the first time he’d kissed Steve in public. And this one, the first kiss with his husband? There were no words. And there wouldn’t ever be.

And then Steve was pulling away, but something was wrong, the smile was gone. The clapping sounded hollow and meek, and the world became colder. Tony frowned, made a questioning noise in the back of his throat, and tried to ask his husband why he was crying like that.

Steve looked at him with tired, sad eyes, and said “put on the suit.”

 

And they became dead men walking hand in hand, facing death with the firm knowledge that they would never let go.

**Author's Note:**

> F.I.S.H.D.O.-- "Fuck It, Shit Happens, Drive On."


End file.
